Four Marauders Dead
~So If I Leave Here Tomorrow, Will You Still Remember Me?~
Allie Collins and Ronnie Van Zant
He had detention with McGonagall, and was writing lines. I must not disrupt my class. I must not disrupt my class. I must not disrupt…
He sighed. All was quiet. He hated the silence. He forgot his mirror in his trunk so he couldn't speak to James- even if he could, he wouldn't do it. McGonagall would surely pick him out. He looked up and saw her marking some papers diligently, her quill scratching furiously on some paper as her forehead was creased with a streak of irritation.
Bet it's Peters, he thought, snickering.
Suddenly, he had an idea- one that would ease his boredom.
"Professor," he said casually, writing his lines.
She gave him a stern, unamused look, her lips pressed in a straight, cold line.
"Yes, Mr Black?"
"I like your hat-"
"Enough nonsense Black, I'm not in the mood," she said icily, not entertaining him.
He sighed and sat in silence once more, writing with ink-stained fingers that were aching him horribly. He remembered that he had a stupid Transfigurations essay due tomorrow, so he'd have to pull another all-nighter, and he had that ridiculous Dream Chart he had to plan for Divinations. Blah, he'd do it 5 minutes before class starts.
"You know Professor, I think you got a lot slimmer-"
"That's very inappropriate Black, ten points from Gryffindor."
He grimaced, they were already losing. Gryffindor now ranked 4th with only 60 points- scratch that, 50 points now, thanks to him. A few more lines were written, and he started to flex his fingers.
"Professor," he said carefully.
She cocked her eyebrow at him, looking over her glasses severely.
"Yes, Mr Black?" she said tiredly, knowing that ignoring him would actually encourage him, in contrary to the human race.
He looked at her full in the face, his eyes wide and serene with his mouth set.
"Professor," he said strongly.
"What is it, Black?" said McGonagall, who- although kept a passive face- was secretly dreading what revelation he'd make.
He looked at her dramatically, strongly as though a knight coming forth with triumph and pride, with dignity and victory- with newfound strength and hope.
"I love you."
McGonagall was unfazed. She just continued marking.
"Just continue your lines, Mr Black."
He groaned, leaning his head down and dripped his quill in the ink bottle. He thought for sure that would fluster her! There was no cracking her, McGonagall… Had he noticed though- had he kept his eyes up a little bit longer, he would've seen a little twitch on McGonagall's pressed mouth that eased to a small smirk.
He was always an entertainment, that Sirius Black.
The Daily Prophet lay in her shaking hands, her eyes wide as she scanned the front page. A large picture of a laughing, demented man was on the cover, his name underlined with large, capitalized letters.
SIRIUS BLACK: TOP-TEN SECURITY PRISONER ESCAPED FROM AZKABAN
She set it down, face first, and leaned across her table, her fingers massaging her throbbing temple. Sirius Black. That charismatic boy, who always made her stand on her toes, who always managed to get a smile on her face… was now this? An escapee from the wizard prison? A murderer?
If someone had told her that when she knew him at school, she would've thought they were mental.
Time passes at a rate so fearsome. She looked into the picture once more: a gaunt face, hollow eyes, and matted, dirty hair that grew up to his elbows. He used to be so handsome. He used to be so different. She sighed once more, setting it down. School was to start soon, and hopefully that would divert her attention. She heard the tapping of footsteps outside her room and felt a gush of fear that it was Sirius Black. Feeling irritated at her own foolishness she walked out of her classroom and peered out through the open door.
What she saw made her heart ache in her tight chest. A tall, thin man, with graying brown hair and a young- familiar- face was observing the large Gryffindor Quidditch tablets that held the star players throughout the years. He touched a golden name with scarred hands before smiling sadly and walking ahead, limping lightly as he carried on.
Twelve years since that incident, and twelve years since she last saw Remus Lupin until now. As she saw his tensed back, and fallen shoulders walk on, she already knew that another one of her students was dead. Four Marauders dead.